Sunderedscript

Mordred gives the smallest shake of his head, not at Dagonet's request however. "No more explanations. I get it. Or mostly get it. And I'm grateful really, you helped me more than you know. As for shutting you up--" He draws back a little, head taking on a thoughtful tilt as he considers Dagonet. Despite the jester making no further moves to run, Mordred still hasn't released him. If anything, his grip has tightened.

After a drawn out moment of contemplation, the prince... well, the hint of fangs can only be called a smirk, but the expression is warm with affection. "As you wish." Another kiss then, this one gentler than the last as well as significantly more thorough. Now that he doesn't have to worry about Dagonet fleeing again, he'd like to give his foolish knight his undivided attention.

Said attention includes the prince pressing closer, breaking the kiss only so that he can begin peppering a trail along Dagonet's jaw and throat. He's debating letting himself wander as far as the bell, however he pauses, head once again cocked as he speaks, voice hushed against skin, "still want to go to the bar? Or would you rather go back to bed with me?"

Yet even as the words leave him, Mordred pulls back suddenly, a somewhat chagrined look on his face. "...Uh, I don't have a key on me." So much for an attempt at a smooth delivery. He's going to need more practice at this sort of thing, clearly. And they're going to need to climb back up to the window.

This time, Dagonet doesn’t freeze up, he kisses back with all the longing of a man who has waited decades for the moment. He reveals in the attention, enjoys every moment of it. And when lips break to trail down his jaw and neck, he leans into like it would cure all his issues. Hands move to wrap around Mordred’s waist, holding him close.

God have mercy on this Fool. Mordred may call himself boring but he was hitting all the right buttons, or Dagonet was truly down so bad anything Mordred did to him would earn the same response. Mordred’s question earns a nod. They needn’t have sex. Dagonet would be just as happy to kiss and be kissed till lips go numb and they eventually doze off, it was late after all.

Yet before he can question how far those kisses would go, Mordred makes his final comment and Dagonet laughs. Loud and proper before covering his mouth with his hand. Best not to wake the neighbors. But it’s endearing. It’s with a smile that is filled with love and adoration, soft and gentle, that he leans forward and presses a kiss to Mordred’s lips.

“Let’s not forget the plate and mug too.” Before any stray cats broke them. “Though, my prince, it doesn’t need to be in the bed. For you I’d do anything anywhere. Simply say the word.”

You were always alone... I wanted to be there. Merlin had nothing to do with it. She provided the means, but the choice was entirely Dagonet's. Mordred takes a step back, blinking, a few lingering pieces falling into place; and with it, a subtle shift somewhere deep within him. What had been a gentle spark, small and steady in its warmth, catches hold of this new kindling, igniting itself into a proper flame.

He opens his mouth to speak, only to snap it shut again as he realizes Dagonet is no longer sitting in front of him. It takes Mordred a moment to register that the jester is making a swift exit down the nearby tree. "H-hey, wait--!!" Taking off after Dagonet, Mordred manages to catch up with him at the base of the tree thanks to a few reckless hops down through the branches. Poor Dagonet doesn't get very far then, Mordred grabbing him by the back of the shirt again, only this time it's to pull him off balance and shove the jester's back against the tree trunk.

Mordred shifts his grip then, hands on Dagonet's shoulders to keep him in place. The prince pants, more from emotion than exertion, face flushed and expression outraged.

"I don't hate you, you bloody moron!" Does he need to prove it? He can do that. Without loosening his grip for fear of the fool making another run for it, Mordred kisses him. It is neither hesitant nor gentle, but rather something much more earnest, a desire--no, a need--to share that fire that's been running through his veins since he realized how much Dagonet has cared all this time.

Kisses can't last forever, of course, so sooner rather than later the prince has to break away. He does not retreat, however, staying where he is, forehead pressed to Dagonet's as he tries to steady his breathing and his pulse. "Don't be stupid. How can I hate you? All the ways you could've chosen to use that bell, and... you chose me. Not because Merlin told you to. Like you said, you wanted to be there." And doing so in disguise is the only way he could have. Mordred knows if Dagonet had shown up as himself, the prince would have retreated, wary as he was about being near any of the knights. Mordred can't find it in himself to fault Dagonet for finding a roundabout way to offer his company.

"You don't hate me for what I did to you, so why would I hate you for what you did for me?"

When his back hits the tree, he's honestly expecting to maybe get punched. Mordred certainly has the look of someone angry. There are a few ways he could get out of this, be smaller, be taller, or he could accept what he perceives as anger-

Except, Mordred doesn't hurl a fiting insult, or a punch, he does hit Dagonet in a way. A kiss. A proper kiss that Mordred initiated. It stuns him. Eyes wide as this time it takes the jester time to react. It's hot against the cold dread he had felt a moment prior. Causing his cheeks to start burning. And by the time he regains his footing so to speak, Mordred is pulling away just enough to breath, forehead pressed against forehead, and a hot breath on his lips. It tastes of chocolate.

Hands tremble as Mordred speaks. Dagonet has dreamt of this day for years, and this isn't his first kiss. He's had flings and spent countless nights with Dinadan, but those kisses and touches didn't feel like this. Those were for fun or comfort, this was a kiss with a deep feeling behind it, like the words being spoken.

Slowly those trembling hands reach up to grab at Mordred's wrist, touch light as a feather. "How could I ignore your sorrow back then? I just... didn't want you to be alone." And whatever attempts he made as Dagonet the human were ignored, but the little orange tom cat wasn't. It was his only way. Even if it still rung wrong.

"I'll only say something more foolish if I try to explain myself... so please shut me up?"

Paws for hands… What a cute mistake to make. Admittedly, it’s not often that someone asks to touch his horns, but the kid was quickly growing on him, and so he awkwardly crouched down to his height.

“Well… they’re not sharp, but they are pointy at the ends, so do be careful with that part.” Perhaps he should babyproof his horns in the future… “Er, may I ask what you’re doing alone here?”

Eyes sparkle as Niimi reaches to lightly feel the horns. They feel way stronger than even the largest stag beetle that Niimi has ever gotten ahold of. He even lifts Gon up so he can lightly touch it too.

"Alone? I have Gon here, so I'm fine~ Is this place secretly dangerous?" Niimi did love exploring anything he could climb or squeeze into. A curiosity more fitting of a cat instead of a fox. "I was just looking for somewhere to play."

Without a word, Mordred gets to his feet, expression blank. He paces to one end of the roof, then back across to the other, each time stopping at the very edge. Back and forth, back and forth, the prince paces, not so much as glancing at Dagonet with each pass. The pieces have fallen into place, yes, although it is not at all the picture he expected it to be. The cat. Dagonet. They're one and the same. He'd been spying on Mordred the entire time? Since the beginning?

His mind races, drawing up old memories, trying to recall all that he had said and done when he thought he'd been alone with just a random stray for company. Across the visits he'd poured his heart out to that cat, admitted to sorrows he'd never even dared share with Arthur, worries and fears he couldn't express otherwise. The king had so much on his plate already, Mordred couldn't bring himself to add to that; afraid of appearing selfish or spoiled, of getting between the knights and their king, he'd kept quiet. Except when that cat was curled up purring in his lap, offering a willing ear.

Mordred stops abruptly, face buried in hands, fingers twisting into his hair. God, there had been a couple times he'd even let himself break down and cry into that cat's fur. And all this time... all this time, it had been Dagonet? Disguised, deceiving him, never once hinting he was more than a common stray? There is a bitter pit in his stomach at the thought that Merlin would send her spy to him when he was at his most vulnerable.

Except...

Slowly, Mordred lifts his head, peeking over his fingers at Dagonet. It dawns on him then that Dagonet had the means to spy on him during more opportune moments. Conversations with Arthur or Guinevere, for one. But he hadn't. The jester-turned-cat only ever showed up when Mordred had been at his lowest, the most in need of a friendly face and a shoulder to cry on, and offered simple comfort. Was that really the sort of thing Merlin wanted information on? It doesn't seem right.

"I need to know--no lies, no half truths, no riddles." Mordred crosses over to stand in front of Dagonet, looming over the jester with a sharp, searching stare. "She gave you the bell, but did you choose what you did with it? Or were you acting on her orders?"

Mordred react even worse than earlier and it has Dagonet wonder if perhaps it would be better to just keep lying. Lies tended to be better than bitter truth. Not that he blames Mordred from getting upset, he knew it was upsetting. To find the cat you cried your heart out too was a person with ulterior motives, who wouldn't be upset?

He dare not look at Mordred as he paces. Honestly he should have just gone back to bed. Stupid stupid Dagonet. It makes him want to rip his hair out. And maybe now getting strangled would be justified.

When Mordred stands before him, Dagonet doesn't dare meet his gaze. No. He curls up a little, holding the bell tightly in his hand. "She told me to amuse myself. You were always alone... I wanted to be there." But he couldn't as Dagonet. He could only ever play another part. Even if that part was a cat. "If you hate me for it, that's fine. I deserve it."

A deep breath in and a slow breath out, then he stands and all he can think of is running away like a coward. "I think... I'm going to head down to the bar, I'll grab my things and be out of your hair when I get back- I am sorry, really." He gives Mordred a bright smile, like this wasn't more painful than any physical torture he had ever lived through, and it doesn't waver. It only takes a second to decide his route, the nearby tree was close enough he could use it to scale down.

"You can dump the hot chocolate to. And sorry again." With that, the jester will exit stage left via a tree.

The quick rotation of different voices is unexpectedly disorienting, prompting Jono to take a step back while giving a shake of his head. "Enough!" Next time he makes demands of this fool, he'll have to watch his words a little more carefully. Jono does not need a second performance of hearing too many different familiar people speak from a single source, thank you.

"For half a second I found you entertaining, now you've gone back to being insufferable."

Dagonet simply gives a laugh, shifting his appearance back to the one he most preferred, and dusting his clothes off just a bit. “A shame I couldn’t keep to your interest but I do worry about getting in trouble~” A lie, he doesn’t care about getting in trouble or not, but the vulpine hound had been having a good deal of fun stepping on the jester.

“Though I’d be happy to let you know if I want to be kicked or stepped on again~ Was it the Elmo voice that threw you off?”

Mordred eyes the jester a moment longer, expression dubious, before he accepts the cup being offered to him. Using sleeves to fend off the mug's heat, he settles himself back down onto the roof beside Dagonet. "Half the things you say worry me--" He sighs, lifting the drink up to take a sip before wincing and lowering it to his lap again. Still too hot. Although the warmth and sweetness is pleasant after sitting in the night air for a while.

For a time, he stares into his cup and considers saying nothing else. They could spend the next while sitting in comfortable silence, watch the stars, maybe trade a joke or two as they finish off the hot chocolate. The sunrise might even catch them still up here together. It's tempting. But Mordred finds it difficult to appreciate a prettily constructed stageplay when he's caught a glimpse of something else behind the curtain.

"I know you're trying to distract me." Mordred looks to Dagonet, then back down at the mug in his hands. He's decided to neither press the issue nor let it go, seeking instead a middle ground. Your sleight-of-hand was very clever, but a trick is still a trick, if I clap it's for you not because you hoodwinked me. "If you don't want to talk about it, fine. I'll believe what you tell me. Because I choose to trust you. It's your choice what you want me to believe."

Mordred’s words cut through the silence, near deafening and it weighs heavily over Dagonet’s head. There is a sigh and slouched shoulders. I'll believe what you tell me. Because I choose to trust you. Words that pierce his very heart.

Dagonet lied often, out of necessity, such was the nature of spying upon his fellow knights and working as a tool for Merlin. There was always a bit of guilt attached to it, he was a liar but he liked to believe he had a good heart befitting a knight. But there was always secrets to be kept, lies to be told, and all for Merlin. But lying to Mordred makes his heart weigh the heaviest. It was harder to lie when the receiver wasn’t fooled by the mask he wore. A glance is given to the prince between locks of dark purple. And how much of his mask and true self blend and which did Mordred believe was the real Dagonet?

So he chugs the hot chocolate, sits it down and looks up to the sky. He watches for a moment, not answering. Then he reaches to take off the bell, holding it in his palm as it shines in the moonbeams and reflects sparkling lights of Jester and Prince both. “I lied and told the truth. I don’t have the heart to fully lie to you.” It’s why he spoke in riddles and puzzles. A trait he picked up from Merlin. “This bell is a gift to me, from her, for she tasked me with a never ending trial that threatens to forever break me should it have the chance. It contains magic, you see, but it’s almost all used up and I vowed never to use the remaining bit after you left. It hurt too much.” He still doesn’t have the heart to, even if it would explain everything with its last use. He was a fool, a sentimental one at that. “The cat is Merlin’s pet. She is his master.” A glance is given to Mordred, wondering if he pieced it together.

Mordred is just beginning to wonder how long he's been out here when Dagonet pops up, startling the prince onto his feet in a hurry. For a moment he looks as frazzled and bristly as a properly spooked cat before he registers the jester's presence--and the cup laden plate balanced on his head. The huff he gives in answer might be a laugh, or an incredulous scoff (the hint of a smile suggests the former is the correct pick).

"You're going to burn yourself, nitwit! Or fall!" Moving to the roof's edge, Mordred lifts the plate with one hand, the other catching the back of Dagonet's shirt to haul him onto the roof. Once he's sure Dagonet is safe from a tumble, Mordred sets down the plate, glancing from it to his hand. In just the few seconds he'd been holding it, the heat had begun to sting, and Dagonet had been carrying it for longer.

Mordred crouches down beside Dagonet, eyes narrowed not with anger but concern. "Did you get burned? Sorry. I didn't mean to make you come up here, I must have zoned out."

Mordred didn't seem mad at him! Horray! It has the jester almost sigh in relief, were it not for the fact Mordred just lifted him up like he weighed nothing. But maybe another day he could make a lewd comment on Mordred's strength.

Not that the cat-like prince gives him the chance, because before he's sat down, the prince is eyeing him like a doctor does a patient. A reach to pat his warm harm before smiling. "Dontcha worry~ It was hot but I've felt way worse~ I used to burn myself all the time when first learning oh and there there was time time I almost lobbed a finger off learning to juggle knives." His pain tolerance is totally from that-

"Are you feeling better? Try having a drink before they get cold~ It's not my favorite way to make hot chocolate." A mug is lifted from the plate and held out with a bright smile. Maybe he should bug Merlin to smuggle his coco block over next, but what to bride her with-

The rudeness doesn't stop Vivi from shaking the offered hand—-in fact, they barely register that the words are rude to begin with. More... competitive, maybe, which is only natural for kids his age.

Eating bits of anything to become them? It was different then how his own ability worked. Maybe that's why he can speak and Vivi can't? Not that Milton was an expert on abilities, let alone his own.

"Just animals. Like snakes, and tigers, and ants. Oh fish too- Though I can't do too many in a day. What about you? Do you get to be anything you want whenever you want??" A curious question. Milton has never really talked about his ability with anyone else before. It was fun! Like sharing a secret.

The cat becomes human, it would be rude to stay as a hawk even if he wanted to keep flying. So he shifts back to his human form, a boy only twelve years of age. He gives a stretch before holding out his hand to the other.

"Maybe it's because I'm better at it then you?" A sweet smile despite the rude words. "My name is John Milton. What's your name? Can you only be cat???"

"It's fine. This is nothing compared to castle walls." Once he's slid the window open, Mordred perches on the sill a moment, looking back at Dagonet. Now he's certain something is up, Dagonet looks downcast and uneasy. He debates briefly if he should come back inside and pick up where they left off, even if Dagonet doesn't want to talk about it, but eventually Mordred thinks better of it.

He needs to clear his head first, shake off the last cobwebs of that nightmare, and maybe give Dagonet a little time to sort himself out too. So out the prince goes. While the jester may have said he's no cat, Mordred has no trouble making use of the slightest of footholds, balancing on edges and points a person has no right balancing on, reaching the rooftop in short order.

The climb is brief, the time Mordred spends up there is not. Stretched out along roofing tiles, arms behind his head, he keeps his gaze fixed on the sky. His thoughts whirl around the conversation for a while before slowing, eventually fading altogether until the prince slips into a comfortable half-doze, absently watching stray clouds. If Dagonet is waiting for him to come back down, it will be a while.

By the time he finishes the hot chocolate, he notes Mordred hasn't come back. So he takes the two mugs and steps back to the open window, glancing up and sighing. This wouldn't be easy at all. But he'd down weirder things. So returns to grab a plate, to sit the mugs on top, and then its the plate with drinks and all on his head.

"Well, Sir Squeak~ Wish me luck~" The mouse would probably tell Dinadan about this next time, but oh well. For now, the jester has the impossible task of scaling a wall with a plat upon is head and piping hot drinks atop them. When he pokes his head up, he spots his missing prince.

"Delivery~" Please laugh. Because he forgot to account for the plate getting hot from the very hot chocolate. "I used all your chocolate, but I can get you more in the morning. You'll catch a cold if you sleep out here." He can only hope Mordred feels better and less talking about bells and cats.

"Alright." Although he chooses to accept the explanation, there's a note of doubt in Mordred's voice. Dagonet's always been difficult to read; he's even harder to read at this moment and Mordred thinks that's where his uncertainty comes from. In his experience, Dagonet seems more cheerful and quick with an answer (and a change of subject) when a conversation is turning in a direction he wants to avoid. Why he'd want to avoid talking about the cat is the puzzle. There's something Dagonet isn't telling him.

He could keep pressing the matter. Where would that get them? Mordred hasn't seen what Dagonet is like when backed into a corner yet, and he's not sure he wants to, not after the rough interruption their night has already had. Or is he overthinking all of this? When you get down to it, it's just a cat with an unnaturally long lifespan. Camelot is full of oddities and the unexplained, that's the way of things where Merlin is involved.

Sighing, Mordred tucks the bell back into Dagonet's shirt then gives it one last pat through the fabric. "You can go back to bed, I'm not tired," the half smile he offers is certainly tired. Climbing to his feet, he looks around the room before settling on the window. It's a short climb to the roof from there for someone like Mordred, and right now somewhere high is exactly where he wants to be. "I need some fresh air."

Dagonet sags a little as Mordred goes to the window. He feels like an idiot. Mordred doubts him and seems to be upset, tired and wanting for space. Dagonet just watches for a moment before he looks away.

"Just be careful, okay? You aren't a cat." Finally Dagonet stands to his feet, wanting to pace a little as anxiety claws at his ribs. Should have just told the truth, you fool- But he's made his bed. "I'll make us some snacks for when you get back. Do you want tea? Or maybe hot chocolate?"

Worried as he is, Dagonet is a coward, and running to hide in the kitchen was better to him then following Mordred to the roof and telling the truth of it. Merlin can call him a cowardly fool for it later. he will reach to pet Sir Squeak from his little nest on Dagonet's scarf. "I think I fucked up buddy." Another pet, before he signs and ventures to the kitchen. Time to make snacks and avoid the anxiety trying his insides into knots.

The ginger cat is still alive. The news fills Mordred with relief that is slightly bittersweet. He hadn't once thought a stray cat would care one way or another about him leaving; part of him is glad it cared, while another part is unhappy to have caused it any misery. It's almost funny that of all the living beings to call Camelot home, the only ones to miss his presence were Arthur, Guin, and a cat.

They're not pleasant thoughts and they chase themselves around in Mordred's mind as he continues to gaze solemnly at the bell. He's reluctant to let go of the thing, rolling it from side to side and drawing out the faintest jingle with each pass. As it rings, he's reminded of hearing that same sound every time the cat came to visit. It always seemed to know where to find him, and always when he most needed someone to talk to. Not very cat-like, now that he thinks about it...

And there's another question that comes to mind the more the prince dwells on the subject. "So if he wasn't your cat, and he's still alive--"

"--then why are you wearing his bell?"

It was an expected and obvious question. A spy of Dagonet's degree should be able to come up with better lies and more believable stories. But lying to Mordred didn't feel right, it made him anxious in a way that nothing else ever did. Mordred trusted him, and that was heavy.

"Well you see... His ribbon was all dirty and when I swapped it with a different bell to get this one a new ribbon, I spooked him. And now he won't let me near-" Its half-assed but his voice doesn't favor with the tells of a lie. "You know I like bells- and it's pretty so I made it into a necklace."

"But less about cats and bells- It's late. We should try going back to sleep."

While Gon talks, Haruki peers at the food being held out to him. He knows he should feel hungry but he doesn't, his thoughts elsewhere. Still, he takes a small portion and makes himself eat it anyway. At least that gives him something to do while he thinks over what he's been told, and how best to get out of this place.

On his own it'd be easy, these bars and walls can't hold a Hunting Dog, but he has Niimi's safety to consider. Not to mention the other kids. If Haruki just starts tearing things apart... they would get hurt, either by his recklessness, or the guards trying to use them as shields.

"I need your help," he tells Niimi, brow furrowed, "I'll get their cells open, but you got to get the other kids together in one big group. Lead them outta here. Kitamura-sensei and Jono will be here soon, they'll look after your guys once you're out. I'll keep those jerks busy~!" Haruki's frown vanishes then, his smile cold and bright as he moves to the wall of the cell. He reaches for the door and, with little effort, tears it off its hinges before chucking it into the center of the room with a terrific crash.

He can hear confused shouts from the other room, so he knows the guards will be here soon to see what the noise was. Good. He has their attention! Now he just needs a weapon--one of the mangled bars of the cell works fine once Haruki rips it from its brethren.

"Payback time, yeah?" Haruki weighs the steel bar in his hand. It's not as comforting as his lantern, but he could still put it to use. Stepping through the hole in the cell, Haruki readies himself, not taking his eyes off the door the guards would be coming through. "Go on, Kichi-kun, I'll make sure no one gets near you guys." Even if he's not much of a fighter, he's still a Hunting Dog, and Hunting Dog's were meant to shield people. He could withstand plenty of damage to keep the guards at bay as long as he had to.

Niimi watches with wide eyes as Haruki removes the metal cell door with ease, like it was made of straw. He can hear the other kids torn between fear and hope. And the guards not far away, confused. Niimi gives Haruki one last look before nodding his head. Right. Jono would be here soon. He could force himself to keep going a little longer.

“Okay! I’ll lead them to your sensei! And-“ A hand raises as he takes his jacket, reaching to tie it around the end of Haruki’s makeshift weapon. What for? To set it aflame with a fox fire. It isn’t Haruki’s blue flame, but it was something. A bright light to keep attention at the very least. “There! I can’t fight with you but you can burn them for me instead and for everyone here! So don’t worry! My illusions are the best!”

With that the boy darts to check on the other children, his steps still unsteady. It takes a moment to coax some from the corners they were hiding behind, to get them to follow. They’re scared. Rightfully so. So Niimi will hold their hands and cover them in a thick illusion.

Just a little longer. They just needed to slip out and hide. For the minute the guards come through the door and go to Haruki, Niimi will be sure to usher them all through.

Good luck Haruki! Niimi believes in you!